Sweet Baby James
by thanksforthecrumb
Summary: Francis is left alone in the middle of the night/early morning with his incredibly loud, definitely-not-sleeping son. And Mary isn't around to help him with baby-shushing. He doesn't remember signing up for this. A modern AU one-chapter. (Slight, implied Frary).


James is crying.

It's not the sort of little sniffles here and there, maybe a few whimpers sprinkled in. No. It's the loud, red-faced wails and screams coming from the kid's tiny mouth. Francis blinks his eyes open, sighing as he stares at the dark ceiling. It takes a moment, but he manages to scrape up the few bits of strength needed to roll off the bed.

James is still crying.

Francis stumbles over to the crib, glancing back at the bed to make sure he hasn't woken Mary. Except she isn't there.

Right.

She'd gotten up for an early shift. Which means that Francis has to find a way to make his son go to sleep. Which is next to impossible. Mary is always the one to get James quiet. Francis is terrible at it.

He sighs and reaches into the cradle, lifting his bawling son into the air. "Shh," Francis whispers. "Shh. You're so loud, baby. So loud. Why can't you sleep?"

James continues to scream, tightening his chubby baby hands into fists.

"Jamie, Jamie, baby," Francis mutters, resting his son's head against his shoulder. He strokes the brown tendrils gingerly, waiting for James's body to stop shaking.

It doesn't.

"Shh, James, shh. Come on, baby. Shh. I've got to go to sleep, bud. And so do you. It'll be better for both of us if you stop crying. Come on, Jamie. _Shh_."

James bawls, his eyes scrunched up and lost under his fat baby cheeks.

Francis groans softly and walks to his bed, bouncing his son as he goes. "Shh. Shh. _Shh_."

His _shh_s get more and more desperate. James's wails get louder and louder. "Mary. I _need_ you," Francis whispers uselessly. James sniffles in agreement, quickly returning to his loud cries. "Why can't you just _sleep_ already, baby? Huh? Is it that hard? What is it? Are you hungry?" Francis heads to the kitchen with James held tightly against his chest. He might as well try to shove food down the kid. It can't hurt.

In the end, it turns out that it _can_ hurt, and it does, as James makes it very clear that he isn't hungry. The screams are even louder now. Francis has a headache.

"Okay, okay!" he exclaims, dropping the container of baby food on the table. James isn't satisfied with this small victory and continues to howl.

Half a bottle of milk (most of it ending up on the floor instead of in James's mouth), a rejected blankie, two Aspirins, and another half-hearted stab at processed peaches later, James is (surprise) still shrieking and crying his displeasure at the world.

Francis is wondering how many Aspirins he can safely take in two hours.

Not enough, is his conclusion.

"Go to sleep, James," Francis whines hopelessly, closing his eyes and letting himself entertain the thought of sleep.

James looks shocked that someone is stealing whining from him. He lets out an especially high-pitched squeal in protest.

"Please, baby? I don't know what to do." Francis sits on the bed, offering a pacifier to James, who bats it away pointedly. "Doesn't Mary sing you a song?" he murmurs, more to himself than to his son. "What is it? Oh. Oh._ Damn_ it. What is it?"

It's not the traditional "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star" or one of those cute songs television parents use to sing their television children (who are remarkably more innocent and easier to handle, Francis realizes) to sleep. It's something weird, probably a song by one of Mary's bands. Something by Sun Kil Moon, maybe? Or is it The Donnies The Amys?

James uses the silence to suck in a deep breath, preparing himself for another round of blood-curdling screams. But Francis can't take it anymore, can't take all the screaming and crying and yelling and tears. Why can't the kid just go to bed? So he manages to get out a few words in a strangled breath before James goes at it again, mumbling the first gentle-enough song that comes to mind. This is hardly the time for belting out "Somebody to Love," much to Francis's frustration. That he can handle. Lullabies? Not so much. Unless "Goodbye Yellow Brick Road" counts as a lullaby…he'll have to ask Mary later.

"_Rockabye_…um, yeah. Yeah. _Rockabye, sweet baby James_," he mutters, in what can barely pass as singing. James releases the breath and opens clear gray eyes, watching his father curiously.

"Um–um, _goodnight, you moonlight ladies_," Francis sings breathily. "_And rockabye, sweet baby James/Deep greens and blues are the colors I choose/Won't you let me go down in my dreams?_"

They stare at each other, and Francis stops singing for a moment. James opens his mouth to scream as Francis pauses, moving his hands and wrinkling his eyebrows as he tries to remember the words and tune.

"No," Francis says quickly, trying to cut James off before he starts crying. "_No_. Um…oh, right. _There's a song that they sing when they take to the highway/A song that they sing when they take to the sea/A song that they sing of their home in the_ –um…oh, sky. _A song that they sing of their home in the sky/Maybe you can believe it if it helps you to sleep/But singing works just fine for me_."

James stares, transfixed, at his father, his tears drying on his cheeks, mouth open in a silent bellow.

"_So goodnight, you moonlight ladies/Rockabye, sweet baby James/Deep greens and blues are the colors I choose/Won't you let me go down in my dreams?_" Francis pauses, gathering a breath and smiling down at his son as his gray eyes become smaller and smaller until they close completely and the loud, red-cheeked baby becomes a quiet, sniffling, sleeping baby. His tiny fingers twitch against Francis's chest occasionally. Francis smiles down at the soft lump of a human cradled against his shoulder, laughing at the little flickering eyelids, the little wriggling toes, the little strands of brown curls blowing from Francis's breath. He's silent. Everything is silent.

Francis breathes a heavy sigh of relief.

Babies aren't that hard. He should do this more often.

"_And rockabye, sweet baby James,_" Francis whispers, brushing a kiss on James's forehead.

* * *

_/if you made it to the end i want to hug you/_

**Notes: **I am so sorry for writing this. I don't know why this is even a thing. Oh, God. Also, I reference my headcanon of Francis's deep love/appreciation for classic rock throughout the fic. Kind of why I mention Elton's "Goodbye Yellow Brick Road" [dies inside as "Yellow Brick Road" becomes stuck in head] and Queen's "Somebody to Love." Kind of why he's singing a Taylor song to his son.

**Disclaimer: **Complete credit to James Taylor for his song "Sweet Baby James." I own absolutely nothing of that, as well as the other songs mentioned. Basically this whole fic is comprised of lyrics. Oh, God. Anyway, I highly recommend you head over to Youtube and check out the song if you haven't heard it, because James Taylor is a beautiful man with a beautiful voice, beautiful songs, and a beautiful talent.

I really freakin' love "Sweet Baby James."


End file.
